


Hidden Talents

by northernexposure



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: #angst #humour #romance #canon, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 18:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20030677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northernexposure/pseuds/northernexposure
Summary: Chakotay's been keeping something very close to his chest. J/C angstiness with a touch of Tom Paris humour thrown in, set third season - you'll work out when.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Missyhissy3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missyhissy3/gifts).

> A/N: I originally posted this on FFN.net in 2015, as a birthday present for MissyHissy3. It's one of the favourites of mine that I've written, so I decided to post it here as part of my archiving.

_It's like you took the giant Christmas tree_  
_at Rockefeller Center and_  
_you spread it out paper thin_  
_but you were careful not to break a bulb_  
_and then you mirrored it a million fold_  
_to shine_  
_and shine  
_ _and shine along_

* * *

**One**

"No," said Chakotay.

"Oh come on, Commander," said Paris, keeping step with him into the turbolift. "At this rate the only member of senior staff we'll have participating will be Tuvok."

"Bridge," Chakotay ordered the 'lift briefly, before adding, "That's too bad, but the answer's still no. As it has been the previous four times you've asked me. Lieutenant, you can ask me the same question every morning from now until we get back to the Alpha Quadrant, and I can guarantee the answer will always be the same. No."

"You do know that Tuvok's planning to deliver a reading of Vulcan poetry?" Paris pressed. "If we don't get more acts, he'll just offer to read more to fill the time. You'd do that to the crew?"

"What can I tell you, Paris? I'm a hard man."

"Can't you just… carve some wood, or something?"

Chakotay looked at him. "That would be preferable to Vulcan poetry?"

Tom grimaced. "Not really."

"Right."

"But I have reason to believe that having you on stage doing anything at all will make at least half the audience happy, so…" Paris shrugged. "How about boxing? Didn't you used to be pretty good?"

"You want the first officer to stand on a stage and pummel someone in front of the whole crew?"

Paris blinked. "It'd depend who was getting the pummelling."

"You know, I think I've got a suggestion…"

"All right, all right," sighed Tom, as the 'lift slid to a halt. "No boxing. Got it."

"I'm telling you, Paris," Chakotay said as they stepped onto the Bridge, "you are not getting me on that stage. I have no demonstrable talents with which to entertain the crew. _Voyager_'s talent night will just have to struggle on without me."

"We'll see," Paris muttered, as he headed for helm.

* * *

Chakotay thought he'd headed off Tom's questioning for good. For the next few days, Lieutenant Paris was entirely silent on the subject of the upcoming event. The first officer was relieved. As good as talent night might prove to be for morale, he really hated the idea of having to get up in front of people and perform. Besides, he genuinely couldn't think of anything he could do that would fit the bill, and in any case Chakotay was pretty sure that plans were proceeding perfectly acceptably without a turn from _Voyager_'s first officer.

"I've just had Neelix send me an update on the progress of talent night," Janeway told him a few days later, over their daily morning briefing in her ready room. "Looks to be coming along well."

"Yes, there seems to be a real buzz about it," Chakotay agreed. "Every time I go into the mess hall, someone's talking about who'll be doing what."

The Captain, seated at her desk, rested her chin on her palm and cast her gaze towards the stars spinning past her window. "Neelix keeps trying to get me to participate," she said.

Chakotay watched her profile, thinking that she seemed a little wistful this morning. He used these short morning meet-ups to gauge her wellbeing. Kathryn's moods were subtle, and she always did her best to keep them hidden, especially when she was feeling down. But over the past two and a half years of their journey he had learned to read her, and this morning he could sense her sadness. Perhaps she hadn't slept well, or maybe there was something specific back home today that she was missing – a birthday, or an anniversary. Whatever the cause, during the course of the day he'd try to find a way to lift her spirits.

"Are you tempted?"

Janeway turned back to him. "Oh no, not at all. The only appropriate talent – if you can call it that – I could possibly think of to offer would be a very simple approximation of the dance of the dying swan from Swan Lake."

Chakotay felt his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Ballet?"

The Captain reached for her coffee. "I used to dance as a child. Right into my teens, in fact. I still love to, although it's very rare that I have the opportunity."

"Well – perhaps this is one?"

Janeway shook her head. "I don't think getting up in front of the crew in a leotard and a tutu will do anything to help my gravitas as Captain, Chakotay. Not to mention that I'm not sure my feet could handle the _en pointe_anymore. Too much time spent in Starfleet boots. No, I shall be happy to watch from my prized seat in the front row. How about you?"

He took a mouthful of his tea. "Oh no. Paris can do a deal with the devil himself if he likes and he still won't find a way to get me on that stage. Unless he wants to volunteer as I use him to demonstrate a sudden discovery of my people's ancient skill at fire eating. Actually, come to think of it…"

Janeway smiled. It was small, but it was there.

[TBC]


	2. Chapter 2

_And there's a tap on my knee_  
_Bring up your seat back please, she says_  
_But I know she means_  
_If you feel like dancing  
_ _dance with me_

* * *

**Two**

The next day, Chakotay was going through some of the latest crew evaluations in his office when the door chime heralded the arrival of a worryingly jaunty Tom Paris. The lieutenant came in holding a PADD, walking as if he'd fitted springs to his regulation boots and with a barely-disguised grin on his face. Chakotay ignored it for as long as he could, which amounted to not very long at all.

"All right," he sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Spit it out. What's got you so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?"

"I," said Tom, pausing for effect, "have discovered your secret talent."

Chakotay frowned. "Not this again. This is neither the time nor the-"

"You've been holding out on us, Commander."

"I really haven't."

"Oh, I think you have."

Chakotay sighed. "Lieutenant-"

"I can't believe you didn't tell me about this. It's exactly the kind of thing we need for talent night! There's no way I can let it go now I know about it."

"I'm as much in the dark as I was a moment ago, Paris."

"I only found out about it myself last night," Tom went on. "Something B'Elanna said."

Chakotay frowned. "B'Elanna told you something about _me_? B'Elanna _Torres_?"

Paris had the good grace to look apologetic. "She was drunk at the time, so…"

"You got Torres drunk?" Chakotay said, astonished. He'd seen B'Elanna drink greater men than Tom Paris under the table without even breaking a sweat. Not to mention the fact that he'd once personally heard her vow to blow Paris out of an airlock if he tried so much as giving her a funny look. What was she doing drinking with the man?

"It was an experiment," Paris explained. "I have this theory that what you see when someone's drunk is the real them. I wanted to see if she had a softer side."

"Yeah?" Chakotay said, wondering how Tom hadn't had every bone in his body pulverised. "And how did that work out for you?"

"Well…" Tom said. "I'm reassessing some of my assumptions. Regarding my theory."

"Right."

"Either that, or she doesn't _have_ a softer side. On the other hand," Paris added, brightly, "she got even worse at cards. So bad that she found herself owing me. Quite a lot, actually. But I decided to cut her some slack if she helped me out with just a little bit of information."

Chakotay's internal certainties quivered slightly.

"She helped you out… with information. About me," he said, slowly.

"Got it in one, sir," said Paris. "So, why don't you tell me all about you and… salsa?"

Chakotay felt his jaw go slack. "What?"

"Salsa. Specifically, of the Cuban style. The dance, that is, not the sauce." Paris lifted the PADD he was holding and read directly from the screen. "'A style of salsa dancing favoured on the Earth island of Cuba and her environs, first popularised in the 1970s. It was originally also known as 'casino style', for the social dance halls in which it originated.'" Paris lowered the PADD, crossed his arms and raised one eyebrow expectantly.

_Oh no. She wouldn't have._ "Tom, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I think you do, Commander. Few years back? Girl you met at the colony on Aretaries III?"

Chakotay cleared his throat. _She did. She damn well did!_ "Not ringing a bell, Paris."

"Long few weeks, B'Elanna said. Your whole team holed up at that lonely outpost, ready and expecting a Cardie attack but not knowing when it was going to come. Had to keep a low profile, a lot of stress and pent-up anxiety, that kind of thing. Needed to find some way to blow off steam, really, right? Enter a cute waitress of Cuban descent who took a shine to you, cue a few evening dance lessons to pass the time, not to mention certain other activi-"

Chakotay raised his hands, cutting Paris off. "Ahh! Stop. Stop!"

Paris was triumphant. "Come on, Chakotay! This crew could do with a bit of Latin heat, don't you think? I'm telling you, it's perfect!"

Chakotay stood. "Absolutely not. Paris, that was years ago."

"So? B'Elanna says you were a natural. And she says she knows for a fact you kept it up even after you and this woman parted ways."

Chakotay rubbed a hand over his face. He was going to kill Torres for this. "B'Elanna is mistaken. And even if she wasn't, the answer would still be no."

"Well, it might be too late for that," said Tom, putting his hands behind his back.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know how fast news travels on this ship…"

Chakotay narrowed his eyes. "It seems to when you have anything to do with it, yes. Are you telling me that somehow the crew is under the impression that I am going to be on the playbill? Dancing?"

Tom shrugged. "You wouldn't want to disappoint the audience, would you, Commander?"

Chakotay put his hands on his hips, exasperated. "Tom, it's out of the question. OK? Even if I were inclined to - which I am most definitely not - talent night is less than two weeks away and I don't even have a partner."

"Ah ha!" said Tom, whipping out the PADD from behind his back again and thrusting it in Chakotay's direction. "Now, that one's easily solved. Here is a list of the crew members willing to learn how to dance _salsa cubana_ with you. Jenny Delaney paid me a day's replicator rations to be at the top of that list, by the way. I'm not saying you necessarily want to go in that direction, but let me tell you, she knows how to move and those legs-"

Chakotay shot Tom a look venomous enough to stop him dead before casting a glance over the list. He had to scan through two pages to get to the end of it. He passed the PADD back and shook his head. "Tom, this is out of the question. There's no way I can dance with a subordinate crew member, it would be extremely inappropriate."

"I thought you might say that," said Tom. "But that still gives you two options, doesn't it? Kes, or the Captain."

"I can't dance with Kes," Chakotay said, his mouth skipping ahead of his brain.

"There you go then," said Paris. "Decision made. The Captain it is."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Why _not_? Paris, you really are beginning to try my patience."

"I don't get what the problem is," Tom shrugged. "You and the Captain - you're friends, right? That's perfect! Friends dance! And you know as well as I do that the crew would love to see the Captain let her hair down. I bet she'd enjoy the chance to do that too, don't you think?" Tom looked at him thoughtfully. "Unless… There's some reason… _why_ it wouldn't be a good idea for you two to-"

"No. Yes. I mean –" Chakotay pinched his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and took a breath. "Yes, we're friends. But the answer is still no, Tom, and if you can't see why it's a ludicrous suggestion, then you really are even more of an idiot than I already think you are. I've wasted enough time on this conversation already. Get back to your post - that's an order. Who's flying the ship, anyway? Harry Kim?"

Chakotay waited until his door shut behind Paris and then he spoke into the air.

"Chakotay to Torres."

_"Torres here."_

"I think you and I need to have a little talk, don't you?"

[TBC]


	3. Chapter 3

_Some of the lights below_  
_shine directly on the people I know_  
_Their lives take such strange shapes_  
_But how together they appear from above_  
_I guess that could be love_  
_My friends_  
_My friends  
_ _I'm coming home_

* * *

**Three**

It was towards the end of his shift the following day that Janeway called him into the ready room. He'd hardly seen the Captain all day – there had been an issue with the warp coil's power manifolds and she'd been down in Engineering working the problem with B'Elanna. She was standing under her ready room window and looked up from the PADD she held with a smile as he walked in. In her eyes he could read her fatigue, though, and the still-lingering traces of the downcast spirit he'd detected in her a few days before.

"Captain?" he said, crossing the space towards her. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes. Tom Paris said you had something you wanted to ask me? About talent night?"

He faltered on the step, hand on the rail. "He – did _what_?"

"Is there a problem?"

Chakotay rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Well, only in the sense that in the next half hour we're going to find ourselves down a pilot."

Janeway shot him an amused glance and headed for the replicator. "Tea?"

"Please."

"What's Paris done now?"

Chakotay sighed and took a seat on the sofa as she replicated their drinks. "It's what he's trying to get me to do. This damn talent show."

The Captain took a seat beside him and passed him his drink. "Oh?"

"He found out that I… used to dance a little. Now he won't let it go."

Janeway's mug paused half way to her lips. "You – dance?"

"Used to. Once. A little," he corrected. "B'Elanna let it slip and now he's convinced that it'd be a great addition to have me up there for all the crew to see."

"Sounds like a wonderful idea to me," said the Captain, with a genuine smile.

"It's really not."

"Why did Tom think you had something you wanted to ask me? If it was for permission to participate, you wouldn't have needed it anyway – but I think you should, Chakotay. The crew – and I – would appreciate it."

"No, that wasn't it. I'd need a partner. Tom's got it into his head that you'd be perfect."

Janeway stared at him for a moment. "I… see."

"I told him it was out of the question."

"Is it? Why?"

That wasn't the response Chakotay had expected. Exasperation, perhaps. Hilarity, maybe. That question, no. He paused for a moment, regrouping, and then said, "Well, apart from the fact that performing in front of an audience really isn't my style… It's salsa cubana."

"You don't think I'd be able to pick it up?"

"No… no, I'm absolutely certain you would pick it up very well," Chakotay told her. He meant it, too. Her inherent grace and fluidity of movement were enough to convince him she'd be a natural. "But Captain, it's a very… passionate… style of dance. If you aren't comfortable with the idea of performing the Dying Swan in front of the crew, then…"

Janeway looked away, although not before he'd seen the briefest flash of disappointment in her eyes. "You're right, of course, Commander. Well then, talent night will just have to do without us. I'm sure it won't be too much of a loss."

Chakotay winced, realising that as infuriating as the notion might be, Tom had at least been right about one thing. The Captain clearly did need an excuse to let her hair down. Wasn't that what his own monitoring of her mood had been telling him for the past few days, too? And she'd told him herself that she loved to dance.

In fact, maybe a night or two of dancing was exactly what she needed.

Yet Chakotay couldn't shift the uncomfortable, niggling feeling that for him to offer to teach Kathryn Janeway to dance salsa would be a very bad idea. He tried not to think too closely about why that might be.

He made his excuses, wished the Captain a good evening and left, telling himself that the entire issue had been put to rest.

Which did not explain why, later, in the soft half-lighting of his quarters, Chakotay found himself practicing steps he once thought he'd never use again.

[TBC]


	4. Chapter 4

_And then the Captain speaks_  
_It's clear and 44 degrees_  
_But I know she means_  
_If you feel like dancing  
_ _Dance with me_

* * *

**Four**

He might well have been able to leave the idea of dancing with Janeway alone entirely from that point on. He did, in fact, for four more days. Chakotay even managed to stop Tom Paris from bringing it up by threatening the lieutenant with double shifts right over the week up to talent night if he a) dared to mention anything about it again and b) he failed to disabuse the rest of the crew of the notion that they were going to see the first officer on that stage.

But Kathryn's spirits continued at the same low ebb he had observed in her before their talk, and Chakotay couldn't shake the memory of her flash of disappointment when he'd squashed the idea of them dancing. Moreover, after each shift he found himself reviving more and more steps, dug out of deep memory. He began to wonder if there was a way it could work. He wasn't a born performer, but B'Elanna hadn't been exaggerating when she'd told Tom that Chakotay was a good dancer. It shouldn't have come as a complete surprise – in some ways, at least, it wasn't a million miles away from the application of grace and light body movement that typified a good boxer. Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. There was a reason Ali's famous axiom had stuck for so many centuries. What Chakotay had forgotten, though, was how much he'd enjoyed it – another memory that resurfaced as he continued to move lightly around his living quarters each evening.

And after all, just because this style of dance could be passionate didn't mean it had to be. He could put together something simple, something appropriate.

Besides, perhaps it would be good for the crew to see them taking part in talent night together. Apart from the Bridge crew and senior staff, there weren't often times when the lower-deck personnel saw them in tandem, after all. Probably not a bad idea if the Maquis and Starfleet crews had a reminder of how well the command team worked together every now and then. It would certainly be good for the Captain to be part of the evening instead of simply being an observer, as she so often was at _Voyager_'s social events. And it wasn't as if he needed to teach her to dance, _per se_. If Kathryn had grown up dancing, she'd have greater muscle memory than he did anyway. All he'd need to do is teach her some new steps, that's all. They probably wouldn't even need to rehearse that much.

The more he thought about it, the more Chakotay thought that he could do this. Moreover, that he should. Five minutes on a stage to lift her spirits. That was worth getting up there in front of the crew for. He put aside the instant tremor that had passed through him at Paris's suggestion and buried his other misgivings. They were friends, after all. Friends did dance together.

So, the following day, with just under a week to go, Chakotay found himself with something else to say after the usual business of their morning briefing.

"I've been thinking," he began. "About talent night."

Janeway looked at him over her coffee mug. "Oh?"

"Perhaps I was too hasty when I turned Paris down."

"You're reconsidering?"

He smiled. "That depends."

"On?"

"You, Captain. I still need a partner."

She put down her mug and glanced at her hands. "You don't think it would be inappropriate? Given your previous concerns?"

"I've come up with a sequence that isn't quite as intense as some can be. It'll be good for a beginner."

He was pleased to see Janeway raise a playful eyebrow. "And for someone who might be a little rusty?"

"Exactly."

She nodded. "Well. I suppose there's no harm in giving it a go, is there?"

Chakotay smiled. "No, Captain. I don't think there is, although I suggest keeping it between the two of us for now. I'd like to see the look on a certain lieutenant's face when – if – we walk on to the stage on Saturday night. And if we decide it's not for us after all, we won't be disappointing the crew."

"All right," said Janeway, with a smile wider than he'd seen for a good while. "Let's do it. I have to confess, Chakotay, it's been too long since I danced. Your mention of it before made me realise how much I miss it."

"I know," he said, with another smile. "I noticed."

She stood, her happiness eclipsed by the shadow of sudden concern. "Is that why you changed your mind? Chakotay – I don't want you to feel obligated-"

He got to his feet. "Kathryn," he said, softly, the use of her first name still a rarity he did not often indulge, particularly not during shift hours. "I don't feel obligated. We don't have much time, though. The holodecks are booked tonight, but we could start in my quarters?"

"I think there'll be more room in mine," she observed. "Say 6.30pm?"

He ignored the very slight quake of unease that shivered in his gut as he said, "All right."

"Make no mistake though, Chakotay," she added. "I am very competitive. We'll get it right. We'll surprise the crew. And we'll win."

"Is it a competition?" he asked, smiling.

"It will be if I have anything to do with it," she said, with her hands on her hips.

He left the ready room still smiling. _Yes_, he thought. _This was a good idea._

* * *

_This,_ he thought, some hours later, _was a spectacularly bad idea_.

Chakotay stood at the empty centre of her quarters. They had spent the previous five minutes pushing her furniture out of the way to make more space. Now he looked around, wondering if there were further delaying tactics he could employ to put off the inevitable. What had he been thinking?

Kathryn had her back to him as she put the last pile of PADDS from her table on the bookcase. She was still in her uniform – so was he – but in some ways that made it even more difficult. He thought back to those dusty, hot nights with Sandra, the woman who had taught him some of the steps he was about to pass on now. Every one of those sessions had turned into something else by the end. It wasn't that Chakotay would have any difficulty distinguishing between then and now – in actual fact, it was exactly the opposite. Then he'd had nothing to lose. Letting go to the music and to the extremely beautiful woman dancing with him had been easy, and if salsa was about anything it was about being in the moment.

Therein lay the significant problem that he had for some reason up until this point intentionally disregarded but, now that he was here in her quarters, could no longer ignore. The idea that he could let himself just 'be in the moment' with Janeway-

No.

Just-

_No._

Kathryn turned to him, her smile a 1,000-watt flashlight even from the other end of the room. "Well," she said. "What comes first?"

Chakotay hid his anxiety under a smile of his own. "Music," he said. "Music first. I've created a playlist…"

Their first attempt did not go well. It wasn't that Kathryn found it difficult to learn the steps he began by showing her - the _son_, the _guapea_. As Chakotay had expected, she moved through them with a grace that made it look easy.

He was the problem.

For a start, he found it difficult to tell her that she should use her hips more. Not that she didn't to begin with – her natural movement made use of her curves anyway, since Janeway walked with a distinct roll of her pelvis that he had found himself trying not to notice on more than one occasion. But her ballet background was in some ways holding her back. Kathryn's grace made her too precise. This dance style was about accentuating natural movement – extending it beyond the norm. _Do it more, with abandon_, he wanted to say, but that felt too personal, too intimate. Too close to the invisible line of safety he'd hurriedly drawn for himself between them, which was also why the idea of showing her the _enchufla_ or the _dile que no_ filled him with distinct discomfort. In the end, Chakotay called up some archive footage for her to watch, hoping that she'd see it for herself.

She did. Within a few minutes of studying a couple dancing at a street party, Kathryn tried it for herself. She moved across the floor, undulating her hips as she turned in a quick and impressive series of steps.

"All right," she said, turning to face him with a determined nod. "I think I'm getting it."

He smiled. "You definitely are."

She held out her hands to him. "Time to see how we move together then, don't you think?"

The answer was, not particularly well. It was his fault, again. As soon as he touched her, Chakotay felt himself tensing. He knew the key to being able to move properly was to loosen up but he was finding that impossible.

They broke apart, Janeway putting her hands to her hips with a frown. "This doesn't feel right," she said. "We're too staccato. Is it me? Am I missing something?"

"It's not you," he said. "Kathryn, the problem is, I'm supposed to be leading. I'm supposed to be quite forceful, in fact – but I just can't do it. Not with you, anyway."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "Because of our relative roles in the command structure? Because I don't get the sense that you're the kind of woman who takes being led particularly well? Because it's not a side of me I've used much in the past two and a half years? Take your pick." There were those other reasons, too, why him loosening up and taking charge around her felt like a terrible idea, but he wouldn't voice those. Even to himself.

Janeway looked down at herself and then cast a glance over him, too. "Maybe keeping the uniforms on was a mistake."

He laughed a little. "Maybe."

She sighed. "Well, it's getting late. We should probably call it a night."

"All right." He was expecting her to call time on this dancing idea, too. But she didn't.

"Let's try again tomorrow?" Janeway asked, instead. "I've enjoyed this, Chakotay."

He realised that her cheeks had a healthier flush than he'd seen in weeks. Her eyes were brighter, too. She really had enjoyed it, and he was glad. He could see the pall of depression that had been hovering over her for the past week or so lifting.

Despite himself, he smiled. "Of course."

Janeway smiled back. "I can deal with you leading," she told him. "Don't be afraid to take charge. OK?"

He wasn't sure that it was OK, but he wasn't going to say as much. That might have meant explaining why, if only to himself.

[TBC]


	5. Chapter 5

_But I've been out past the lights_  
_to where the jagged black begins_  
_I let my heels sink in the sand_  
_and the ocean sucks its teeth_  
_and the cold cuts through my feet  
_ _and I'm stretched out on and on and on_

* * *

**Five**

When he arrived the following night, Janeway was dressed in snug black calf-length pants and a long, loose teal-coloured shirt. Her feet were bare and her hair was down around her shoulders.

"See?" she said. "No Captain. Just Kathryn. I thought this might help."

It didn't, not even slightly, although he couldn't tell her that. Chakotay knew the moment he saw her that he should bolt straight for the door. He should just get the hell out of this mess he'd made for himself and find something – anything – else to distract him.

But how could he? He couldn't cut these lessons short without an explanation. And with an explanation? Well, he knew exactly what would happen there. She'd punish herself for engaging in 'inappropriate behaviour' with a member of her crew and shut down for good. Chakotay already knew he was the only person she really opened up to. She couldn't afford to lose that.

_Deal with it,_ he told himself, silently. _Just deal with it. She needs this. She needs you._

Kathryn, oblivious, stood in the middle of her floor and said, "I've been practicing."

He smiled at her enthusiasm with genuine affection. "Great."

She waved brusquely at his uniform. "Take your jacket off. Let's do this."

Chakotay laughed at the determined edge to her voice. He unzipped his jacket and dropped it over the back of one of her chairs, and then as an afterthought pulled off his grey tank top too, leaving just his grey undershirt. No pips. Not tonight.

"That's the last commanding thing I'm going to say this evening," Janeway added. "I'm following from now on."

Chakotay moved to stand in front of her, a full head and shoulders taller than she was in her bare feet. He hesitated.

"Come on!" she chided, impatient.

"What was that about not being commanding?" he teased, laughing as he gently clasped her hands.

She laughed back at him with her whole being, her head tipped back and her hands in his, and Chakotay realised there and then that he had never felt more deeply for a woman than this.

* * *

The second session went much better.

Or at least, it did until they were mid-way through the third full practice of the sequence. Salsa should ideally be a completely spontaneous series of movements, but in this case – given that they were dancing purely for performance and also because Kathryn was a beginner – Chakotay had actually choreographed a short dance for them. Mid-way through, there was a series of quick turns that they had previously performed with a little distance between them, but for some reason this time when they started their proximity had become closer. Habit was setting in, perhaps, or they were just feeling more comfortable with each other. Whatever the reason, when the turns came this time he found Kathryn stepping between his legs, her thigh pressed between his, her hip bumping against his groin as she almost fell against him. His body flushing at the contact, he caught her wrists, lifting her arms up and over his head so that their bodies pressed hard together before he, still with her slim wrists trapped in his hands, spun her away again and pulled her back in against him.

Chakotay realised immediately what he had done – how quickly his control of himself had slipped and become control of her instead. Not to mention how swiftly he had used that control to stretch Kathryn out against him without even thinking.

He let go of her, equilibrium shot, taking a step backwards.

"I think I started off on the wrong foot," she said, slightly out of breath. "Let's go again. I'll get it this time. We're doing so well, Chakotay!"

But it was no good. The gain he'd managed – the looseness of limb that had seen him moving with her naturally – was gone. He was too tense, too aware both of her and himself. After another two halting, stumbling attempts, one of which saw him almost crush one of her bare feet, he suggested that they call it a night.

"I'm sorry," she frowned.

"No, it's not you," he said. "I think I'm tired. It's been a long day. Let's try again tomorrow."

"We've nearly got it, though, don't you think?" said Kathryn. "Which is just as well, with only two evenings of practice to go."

_Two evenings,_ he thought to himself as he nodded. _Then the talent show itself. That's three nights in total. OK. I can do that._

* * *

"I don't think practicing in my quarters is really helping," she told him, after their briefing the next morning. "So I've booked the holodeck for an hour this evening. We'll have more space."

Chakotay nodded. "Sounds like a good idea."

"Have you thought about what you're going to wear?" Janeway asked. "For the actual performance, I mean?"

"Just black pants and a white dress shirt," he told her. "How about you?"

Kathryn shook her head. "Not sure. I'll have to do some research."

Chakotay's day was so busy that he had little time to think about what this might mean. First there was a dispute between two Ensigns to mediate – a basic personality clash that had been brewing for some time. Elsewhere the two crew involved probably could have simply avoided each other and learned to move on, but in the cramped confines of _Voyager_ it had festered into an issue that had to be dealt with. The first officer had done his best to keep an eye on it, but changing their shift patterns hadn't done the trick, and now the situation had become serious. Then he'd had to endure yet another session with Tuvok – the security chief was developing a new series of battle drills and couldn't seem to understand that Chakotay was happy not to be privy to each and every new step in the vulcan's painstaking process. On top of these additional demands on his time, there was Chakotay's regularly scheduled meeting to approve Neelix's provisional menus for the next month as well as his usual daily duties as first officer.

All of this meant that he was very nearly late for his appointment with Janeway that night. He arrived at holodeck two harassed and a little fatigued, noting from the status of the read-out outside that she had obviously beaten him to it. He walked in to find that she'd programmed the room to display a hall about the same size as one of _Voyager_'s cargo bays. It was a plain space with cream walls interspersed with what seemed to be bulkheads and several windows showing a starscape, as if it were aboard a ship, though one he didn't recognise. The floor was carpeted in plain Starfleet grey.

"It's my father's ship," said her voice, behind him. "One of them, anyway, before he was promoted to Admiral. One of my earliest memories of dancing is on a trip my mother and sister and I took to see him once when a rotation brought him close enough to Earth to visit."

Chakotay turned to her with a smile and then stopped dead. Whatever he'd been about to say died in his throat.

Kathryn was not in uniform. She wasn't in the pants and shirt of the previous night, either. This time she had chosen a dress. It was black with short, capped sleeves, made in a simple crossover style that tied to the left of her waist. There was absolutely nothing provocative about the garment. The v of the neckline rested well above her cleavage and the skirt came only an inch or so above her knee, the overlap of the two crossed panels significant enough not to show as a split. It shouldn't have knocked him as far off centre as it did. Compared to what Sandra had worn to dance with him back at that colony, it was positively puritanical. It wasn't as if Chakotay hadn't seen Janeway in dresses before, either. It had been her usual mode of attire on New Earth.

Then, however, she hadn't ever chosen to pair her outfits with sheer black pantyhose and black patent heels. It was a completely appropriate choice for the style of dress she was wearing, but he'd rarely seen quite so much of her legs out of uniform before, and certainly never accentuated as they were now. Kathryn Janeway and lingerie – any lingerie: two concepts Chakotay instantly knew he could not permit to occupy connecting space in his mind. He kept his eyes on her face as she walked toward him. She'd twisted her hair up against her head out of the way, leaving her neck tantalisingly bare. The heels pushed her hips forward, making that roll of her pelvis even more pronounced. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Is this all right?" she asked, indicating her attire. "I know it's not quite authentic. There should probably be a lot less of it, judging by the performance archives I looked at, but I tried to find something a little more appropriate."

Chakotay rubbed a hand over his eyes. "It's – fine. As long as you can move easily in it, it's good." He turned away, shrugging off his jacket and yanking off his tank top, a frisson of something like annoyance surfing the edges of his mind. Not that he was irritated with her – or, indeed, with anything in particular. He was just tired and stressed. It had been another long day and truth be told, he could do without another evening of keeping himself in rein. Right now, a boxing ring would have been a more appropriate use of this space, because he could really do with being able to throw a good hard punch at-

He checked himself, aware that this was a distinctly bad mood with which to start the evening. Kathryn had obviously sensed his ire, too.

"Are you all right?"

Chakotay turned, forcing a smile. "Just – difficult day."

"Want to talk about it?" Her expression was open, genuine, and as beautiful as the rest of her.

Just for a second, he let himself feel the pulse of illicit energy she inspired in his gut. "No," he said then. "Let's dance."

[TBC]

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

_How disconnected I can feel on the ground_  
_It's like I'm shining all alone_  
_and I don't want to be, so_  
_before I go to bed tonight_  
_I'll signal up to the passing flights_  
_Hit the lights_  
_the lights  
_ _the lights_

* * *

**Six**

But he couldn't make it work.

He was coiled so tightly, so aware of their every touch and so busy trying not to notice her in any way – not how very pale and smooth the skin of her neck was, not how the sheer black hosiery made the perfectly toned muscles of her legs look almost sculpted, not how her faint perfume seemed determined to fill every inch of him – that Chakotay kept missing their steps. Twenty-five minutes in, he was still stumbling over a sequence he himself had created. When he did manage to work his way through, it was only by making his movements dull and leaden.

He could sense Janeway's growing frustration. It only served to increase his own, which was already running high in the wake of everything else he'd had to deal with during the course of the day. Every time they were forced to stop because of a mistake of his, he felt the knot in his stomach twist a little tighter. The more they tried – and the more body heat Kathryn generated – the harder it was to block her out and the more he had to work at keeping himself in check. The endeavour simply wasn't conducive to dancing with any semblance of spirit or rhythm at all.

"Stop!" she said at last, after he'd bungled yet another step and almost tripped her. "Chakotay, just stop."

He stepped away from her, turning his back and putting his hands on his hips, breathing hard.

"This isn't working at all," Janeway said. "You're so tense."

"We just need more practice, that's all," he said, keeping his back to her as he tried to tamp down on his own frustration.

"That's not all!" she said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "We've gone backwards since yesterday. At this rate we'll never be ready for Saturday night."

"Well then, perhaps we should just admit defeat," he suggested.

"Why?" she argued, her chagrin obvious. "We can do this! I know we can. You just need to loosen up, Chakotay. I feel as if I'm trying to dance with a rock tonight."

He swung around to face her. "A rock?"

She blinked at his tone. "I just mean – you need to let go. Stop thinking so much-"

"A _rock_?" he repeated again, feeling the fury that punctuated his words.

Janeway held up her hands, trying to placate him. "I'm sorry, it was just a figure of-"

"Computer," he called, cutting her off, feeling everything he'd been holding in since the session had started suddenly come surging up through his core. "Chakotay music programme four, track two. Play."

He reached out and grasped Kathryn's wrist, tugging her towards him as a far faster rhythm than the one they had been practicing with filled the air.

"Chakotay," Janeway began, "what are you-"

He moved in and pressed his hip against hers, feeling her quake as his free hand slid down from her shoulder to the base of her spine to hold her firmly against him. "You want me to dance? Fine. Then I'll dance." Grasping her hands he moved quickly, spinning her out into a turn and then pulling her back in. He heard Kathryn gasp briefly but he didn't give her a chance to break away, trapping her hands in his and taking them instead into a _coca cola con dile que no_.

"Chakotay," she said, trying to make herself heard over the music as she spun. "I think-"

He pulled her to him and let go of her fingers, stepping even closer and running his hands up her bare arms, up over her shoulders and that perfect, naked length of her neck until her face was cupped between his palms. She was pressed so tightly against him he could feel the swift rise and fall of her chest against his. He bent his head until his face was close to hers, their lips just millimetres apart. He could feel her hands searching for balance at his hips. "Either you want me to let go or you don't, Kathryn. Which is it?"

Chakotay paused just a second to see if she'd push him away, but she didn't. So he danced and he took her with him, holding on to her, keeping her close enough to feel every muscle, every curve, every undulation of her body. Within ten seconds they were moving as one, the passion and abandon his fury had inspired entirely shared as Kathryn gave as good as she got. Chakotay twisted and turned, then curled her back into him until her back was against his chest and her arms were crossed over herself, hands still in his. Kathryn tipped her head back against him, eyes closed. It lasted only a beat before she spun again, freeing herself and her hands. As she pivoted away he grasped her waist instead and turned them, spinning, spinning - her hands reached for his biceps, half pulling him in, half pushing him away. T'was ever thus, he might have thought, had he been thinking at all. Then her fingers found his chest, right over his heart, the heat of them searing through his thin t-shirt. She'd touched him that way before, but right now the spark he always felt under the brief contact only added to the conflagration that had overtaken him.

He grasped her fingers in his own and held her hip harder in his other hand, rotating her around him before taking both her hands again and holding her arms high. He hooked one leg behind hers, transforming her ensuing stumble into a dip as he bent her backwards, her arms as well as his behind her back as the arch of her spine brought his lips almost close enough to brush her neck. She was breathing hard as he pulled her back up but the glint in her eye - half anger, half rank passion - said she wasn't done yet and right then he'd be damned if he this was a fight he was walking away from.

He felt every move she made as she kept up with every step he demanded from her and still he wanted more. As the music came to a crescendo he pulled her even closer. Chakotay hitched her hard against him, then reached down to grasp her calf, lifting her thigh against his hip and gliding his hand up the hot silk of her leg to the crook of her knee. The music faded, leaving only the ragged rasp of their breathing as he let her leg slide slowly back to the floor, his hand travelling up her thigh and over the soft fabric of her dress to her waist, instead.

"I am _not_," he said, in a whisper made hoarse around his lost breath, "made of stone."

Eyes wide, lips parted and breathing hard, her gaze dropped to his mouth. At that moment it was all the invitation he required. Chakotay kissed her, hard, parting her lips further as his tongue found hers. Kathryn moaned against his mouth and he felt a deep, helpless shudder pass through her. Her hands bunched themselves into his t-shirt, pulling him closer still. Arms full of her, Chakotay pushed her backwards until he found one of the bulkheads and pinned her there with his hips, dragging her hands from his shirt and twining his fingers through hers to trap them against the bulkhead. Her mouth was hot, her lips were soft and the feel of her pressing herself against him undid any remaining good sense he might otherwise have summoned. He needed more. He needed her. Releasing her fingers but not her lips, Chakotay stroked his hands firmly down her sides. Kathryn arched against him, trembling, dragging her fingers through his hair as the kiss deepened even further. He brushed the curves of her full breasts, running his hands down behind her to cup her backside as his lips tore away from hers to trail kisses down her neck. He dragged at the neckline of her dress with his teeth, pulling it open until his lips connected with the strap of her bra. Breathing her in he flicked out his tongue, felt as well as heard her gasp as his mouth followed the delicate filigree of decidedly non-regulation black lace – lower, lower, revelling in a softness he had guiltily imagined but doubted would ever be his to experience. His hands searched for the tie of her dress as her fingers found their way beneath his t-shirt, raking it up and-

_"Occupants have requested a fifteen minute alert. Fifteen minutes remain in this holodeck session."_

The computer's voice may as well have been a bucket of ice-cold water. They both stilled, drenched in sudden and horrifying realisation. Then Chakotay wrenched himself away from her, turning abruptly, his hands balled into tight fists.

No sound. No sound at all except for their breathing, so loud in that small room.

_What have you done?_ His mind roared at him. _What have you DONE?_

"Oh god," Kathryn said shakily, a moment later, her breath still heaving. "Chakotay – I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He spun to look at her. "You're sorry?" he said, "I'm the one who should be apologising. Kathryn, that was – inexcusable. I just – I'm sorry."

She looked at him from where she stood, still backed up against the bulkhead, her fingers spread out against it behind her as if she needed it to keep her upright. Her lips were swollen and her cheeks were flushed, her hair beginning to tumble from the pins she'd secured it with. Janeway clenched her hands. "I pushed you. I knew you weren't comfortable, and I still pushed you. This is my fault," she grated. "I should never have-"

"No," he told her, still trying to catch his breath. "_I _should never have. I knew this entire thing was a bad idea, and I still went ahead with it. And whatever the circumstances, I should have been in better control of myself. _I'm sorry_."

Kathryn made a sound in her throat and tipped her head back against the bulkhead. "I don't think you were the only one lacking in control just then, do you?" She shook her head. "And as your Captain-"

Chakotay, the adrenaline of the past few moments leaching from his body, felt suddenly exhausted. He walked to her and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. "Stop. Please, Kathryn. Just… don't. We both know what this was about. We were both there in that moment. This is about us. This is between _us_. Let's not make it any greater or lesser than that. Please."

She released a shuddering breath and then rested her forehead against his chest. For a few minutes they stood still, calming themselves in the aftermath.

"We can't dance this in front of the crew," she muttered, her voice muffled against his shirt.

He laughed a little, lips pressed against her hair, arms still tight around her. "No. No, I don't think we can."

Kathryn sighed, leaning back to look at him. "You know, I'd been thinking that if I'd known that you could dance on New Earth, I could have got you to teach me then," she said. "Probably just as well that I didn't…"

Chakotay smiled down at her. "Probably…"

She shook her head, then raised one hand to touch his temple, where the lines of his ancestors lay. "I am truly sorry," she said, quietly. "I've been kidding myself. I told myself that what you said, back then – that it was just about friendship. Because to think it was anything else was just too difficult when I am not free to pursue anything more between us. That's how I told myself that dancing with you would be fine. I wanted to dance, and I wanted to dance with you. I told myself that whatever I felt for you, I could hold it in check – for the sake of my engagement, for the sake of the ship. That if there were any suffering to be done, it'd just be mine and if nothing else, I could at least have this dance. But I should have been less selfish. I should have-"

"Ssh," he said, stroking her cheek. "It's all right."

"It's not all right," she said.

"Well, OK," he conceded. "No, in a perfect world, perhaps it's not all right. But this isn't a perfect world, is it? And these are the circumstances we are in. We both understand that, and we understand each other. Perhaps even a little better now than we did before?"

She watched his face steadily for a moment. Then she nodded.

"Selfish or not," she said, softly, "I hope that I get to dance with you again one day."

He smiled. "I hope so, too."

They looked at each other for another moment, and he saw Kathryn's gaze stray again to his mouth. Chakotay leaned in and she met him half way. They kissed once more, gently, warmly, knowing it would signal the end of the evening. Knowing that for now at least, this particular dance had come to an end.

[TBC]


	7. Chapter 7

_And now the man in the middle seat_  
_recites his times tables audibly_  
_but I know he means_  
_If you feel like dancing_  
_dance with me_  
_dance with me  
_ _dance with me_

* * *

**Seven**

"Can't say I'm really looking forward to this," B'Elanna muttered, as she and Chakotay followed the crowds of _Voyager_ crew making their way into the holodeck. "How long is it going to go on for?"

"With an attitude like that, it's bound to feel like forever," said Chakotay. "Come on – it could be fun."

B'Elanna snorted. "Say that again in three hours' time and let's see if you mean it."

Chakotay wasn't really any more enthusiastic about attending talent night than she was, but he wasn't going to let that show. After all, his reasons for reticence towards the event were distinctly different. "The participants have all worked really hard on this," he pointed out, mildly. "Least we can do is give them the courtesy of our time, wouldn't you say?"

Torres gave an exaggerated sigh as they entered the holodeck. "All right, all right… but I've told the guys in engineering to call me the second anything happens down there that might get me out of here."

Chakotay looked around, impressed by the large room in which they found themselves. Paris had designed it to look like an old-style music hall. Raked seating upholstered in plush red velvet matched walls of the same colour and lead down towards a sizeable stage set beneath ornate gilt surrounds. Ushers and usherettes in matching uniforms directed the crew to their seats while vendors in similar outfits stood here and there with trays, selling little tubs of ice cream.

"Tom and Neelix have done a good job," he observed. "Where do you want to sit?"

B'Elanna looked at him in surprise. "I figured you'd be down the front with the Captain. She's probably saved you a seat."

Chakotay avoided glancing in the direction that B'Elanna indicated, smiling as he said, "I'm sure she's tired of sitting next to me all day. I'm happier sitting further back, anyway."

The past day or so had been a little awkward for the command team. It wasn't that they needed to clear the air – they had done that pretty effectively at the time and probably in more ways than one. But Chakotay had found that it was taking a while for the dust to settle. He hadn't slept much. As hard as he tried, his mind kept slipping back to their encounter, replaying it in his head even as he told himself he really had to stop. From the amount of times he'd caught Kathryn's gaze sliding away from him as he looked towards her, he suspected the same might be the case for her. So it would be easier to avoid close proximity for a while, that was all. Except that for obvious reasons, given their respective roles, that was pretty difficult. They were both professionals and they would work through it – indeed, they would work perfectly well together even while working through it - but there was no need to rub salt in the wound.

The lights began to dim as he and B'Elanna made their way towards two empty seats.

"Ladies and gentlemen," boomed Neelix's excited voice. "Please take your seats for the inaugural _Voyager_ Talent Night Extravaganza!"

* * *

All in all, the evening's entertainment wasn't too bad. Harry's clarinet solo, for example, was actually very good, and Chakotay had had no idea that some of the crew were such genuinely funny people. Nevertheless, by the time they announced the final act (Ensign Jordan's Distinctly Rude Puppets, now there was a revelation), Chakotay was beginning to tire. His legs were cramped and the seats, while initially feeling very comfortable, were now proving anything but.

Ensign Jordan took her final bow, and the crowd were ready to get on their feet. Tom Paris appeared to an enthusiastic ovation. He walked to the centre of the stage and then stopped, looking around as if he'd suddenly realised something was missing.

"Neelix?" he called, into the darkness. "Where are you?"

Something seemed to be happening in the wings.

"Uh – just hold on a moment, ladies and gentlemen…"

Tom dashed back off stage for a second, and then reappeared looking a little flustered.

"Um, it turns out we have one more act! So, uh - please take your seats…"

A murmur went around the crowd, but they did as they were told. The lights on the stage dropped completely, and then a single spotlight appeared. A few seconds later, someone walked into it.

Chakotay's heart turned over as a collective gasp washed around the auditorium. He felt B'Elanna's hand clamp itself to his forearm.

"Is that the _Captain_?" she hissed.

Chakotay didn't answer. He was too transfixed by the figure on stage. She looked small in the spotlight, the darkness outside her tiny illuminated circle threatening to swamp her entirely. Into the now utterly silent room rose the haunting sound of an orchestra, and Chakotay knew exactly what it was he was about to see.

Kathryn had chosen to forego the traditional costume. There was no white leotard and matching tutu, no feathered crown. Instead she was wearing the outfit she had replicated for their dance, complete with the heels. After all, she'd already told him she didn't think she could manage the _en pointe_.

_Not the standard Dying Swan, then,_ he thought to himself somewhat numbly as she began to move. But then, how could it ever have been, with this woman dancing it?

Kathryn lifted her lithe arms, their tone softly delineated by the light overhead. She turned, slowly, gracefully, and as she did so she transformed into the doomed swan with a lightness of being that was stunning in its simplicity. Dressed in black as she was, she faded in and out of the shadows around her: barely seen, barely there - as much a fairytale figure as the one she was using her whole self to create. The story she told was a triumph of duality – beauty with tragedy; light with darkness; restraint with abandonment; passion with despair, tender but resolute: simple and yet at the same time almost incomprehensibly complex.

_This is Kathryn,_ Chakotay thought, as he watched her move. _It is everything she is._

And he knew, with as much certainty as he had ever known anything, that at that moment she was dancing only for him.

* * *

The following morning, Chakotay found himself riding the turbolift to the Bridge alongside a buoyant Tom Paris.

"Morning, Commander."

"Lieutenant," Chakotay nodded in greeting. "Good job on last evening's entertainment. It went well, I thought."

Paris grinned with a nod. "Thanks. Everyone seemed to have fun. Neelix and I are already talking about another one."

Chakotay clasped his hands behind his back. "Well, as long as you don't try to rope me in. The answer will still always be no."

Tom shrugged. "Oh, well. Kind of looks like we have another dancer in the mix anyway, doesn't it? Can't tell you how shocked we were when the Captain appeared in the wings. She didn't so much as drop us a hint beforehand."

The first officer smiled. "I'm glad she decided to join in."

"She was something else, wasn't she? I've never seen ballet danced like that before. If I had I might actually be more interested in it…"

"Paris…" Chakotay warned.

"In fact," Tom went on, "it kind of felt like more than ballet to me. As if there was something else mixed in with it. Another style, maybe. Do you know what I mean?"

"Hardly ever, Lieutenant."

Paris sighed, an expelled breath that seemed too heavy to just relate to their current conversation. Chakotay looked at him with a frown.

"What?"

The younger man shrugged a little. There was a slight pause and then he said, "Can't be easy. I'm… sorry, I guess. That's all."

Their gazes met as the 'lift slid to a halt. The doors opened.

"Still no clue what you're talking about, Mr Paris."

Paris nodded. "Aye, sir."

The lieutenant walked out ahead of him onto _Voyager_'s humming Bridge. Chakotay hung back, just for a moment. Then he followed.

[END]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things:
> 
> 1) The song quoted here is the wonderful 'Flight 180' by Bishop Allen. Buy it, listen to it, love it.
> 
> 2) MissyHissy3, for whom this story was written, dances Cuban salsa.
> 
> 3) So does Robert Beltran.
> 
> 4) I've always felt that the idea of Janeway dancing the Dying Swan in front of the crew of _Voyager_ needed some pretty serious rationalisation. This is mine.
> 
> 5) MissyHissy3 wrote a fabulous sequel to this. It's called 'Turning Point' and it's here: [Turning Point](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12821574/chapters/29271462)


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